"Got ye't by sea, or got ye't by land, Or got ye't aff a drownd man's hand?" "I got na't by sea, I got na't by land, Nor gat I it aff a drownd man's hand; "But I got it at my wooing, And I'll gie it to your wedding." "I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my head, I'll follow you, and beg my bread. "I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my hair, I'll follow you for evermair." She has tane the scales o gowd frae her head, She's followed him, to beg her bread. She has tane the scales o gowd frae her hair, And she has followd him evermair. Atween the kitchen and the ha, There he loot his cloutie cloak fa. The red gowd shined oure them aw, And the bride frae the bridegroom was stown awa. JOHN BROWN'S BODY Old John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave, Because he fought for Freedom and the stricken Negro slave; Old John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave, But his soul is marching on. _Chorus_ Glory, glory, Hallelujah! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! His soul is marching on. He was a noble martyr, was Old John Brown the true; His little patriot band into a noble army grew; He was a noble martyr, was Old John Brown the true, And his soul is marching on. 'Twas not till John Brown lost his life, arose in all its might, The army of the Union men that won the fearful fight; But tho' the glad event, oh! it never met his sight, Still his soul is marching on. John Brown is now a soldier in that heavenly land above, Where live the happy spirits in their harmony and love, John Brown is now a soldier in that heavenly land above, And his soul is marching on. TIPPERARY Up to mighty London came an Irishman one day, As the streets are paved with gold, sure everyone was gay; Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand and Leicester Square, Till Paddy got excited, then he shouted to them there:-- _Chorus_ "It's a long way to Tipperary, It's a long way to go; It's a long way to Tipperary, To the sweetest girl I know! Good-bye Piccadilly, Farewell, Leicester Square, It's a long, long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there!" Paddy wrote a letter to his Irish Molly O', Saying, "Should you not receive it, write and let me know! "If I make mistakes in 'spelling,' Molly dear,' said he, "Remember it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on me." Molly wrote a neat reply to Irish Paddy O', Saying, "Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so Leave the Strand and Piccadilly, or you'll be to blame, For love has fairly drove me silly--hoping you're the same!" THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, And he was a squires son: He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, That lived in Islington.